A Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On!
by Lancer1968
Summary: Johnny and Scott Discover Ooh La La Warning: Some Cussing A Lancer nod for The King's Birthday…Sorta - Inspired by one of the many songs Elvis sang and how it could worked in the ol' west


A Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On!

Summary: Ooh La` La`

Warning: Some Cussing

A Lancer Nod for The King's Birthday…Sorta Of

Inspired by one of the many songs Elvis sang and how it could worked in the ol' west

Any and All Disclaimers Applicable

6:15pm, Saturday, January 8, 1872

The Lancers boys were in a lull; time hung heavy on their hands. For it was the slow time of year; daily ranching chores were curtailed, mostly few and far between since it was winter; bring in more wood for the kitchen and great room wood boxes and feed the critters in the barn. The woodshed was more than three-quarters full. The larder stocked as was the wine cellar. It was time to relax and enjoy the long winter nights with family in front of the roaring fireplace.

The Lancer herd was off to the winter pastures where the supply of feed was stored in a fortified shed and the hands that stayed on over the winter tended to the livestock. The few weathered hands resided in one of the line shacks, required no supervision from either of the boys. They knew what they were doing, cared for the Lancer stock long before either son of Murdoch Lancer had landed a boot heel upon their father's vast land.

Meanwhile, Murdoch had departed the previous day to attend the annual Cattlemen's Association Members Only meeting in Stockton, as neither one of his sons were yet seated on the board they remained on the home front. Murdoch brought Teresa and Maria with him so that the women could shop for their supplies to restock any low items for the Lancer larder, as well as purchase any dry goods, trims, buttons, thingamajigs, whatchamacallits and bobbles for new dresses and curtains to be made. Murdoch knew he could attend his meetings and not worry over the women; he was not one hundred percent certain his sons could stay out of trouble in Stockton, so home they stayed.

In the great room, the Grandfather clock's pendulum tick-tick-tock the sixty seconds of each minute; minutes tick-tick-tock a musical chime each quarter hour until the new hour came with a pronounced BONG-BONG-BONG for the designated hour before making the trip for the next hour over again. The brothers were in the great room, it being the primary room of social, business and family gatherings. One was at rest, able to keep himself entertained without difficulty, oblivious to the clock's swinging pendulum, the other brother was not able to entertain himself nor ignore the damn clock. He felt it was mocking him, reminding him that time was slowly going by as was his life. He signed heavily as if the weight of the entire world rested upon his shoulders.

Scott leisurely reclined in his favorite chair by the fireplace engrossed in Mark Twain's "_The Innocents Abroad"_, a collection of letters Twain wrote for a newspaper in 1867 that had funded his trip to the Mediterranean, Europe and the Middle East. Scott had followed the writings of this popular journalist when Twain's humorous tall tale, _"The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County"_, was published in a New York weekly, _The Saturday Press_, in November, 1865. He was content to turn the pages, sip his coffee and chuckle out loud at some of the descriptive passages of Mr. Twain's adventures and misadventures.

Johnny wasn't content, not in the least, sitting still had never been his style, never would be. He paced the room, stopping at his pa's oversized oak desk to pick-up various items to examine each with bored contemplation. The frames with images of himself and Scott, the matchstick holder, which he promptly dropped causing the matches to tumble to the desktop and floor. Softly cussing "shit", he stared at them before his attention moved over the pewter letter opener, the ink well, and the calendar, every object required his close inspection.

His eyes and hands moved next to his father's model sailing ship, adjacent to the desk. When he turned the ship upside down, Scott's eyebrows arch, Johnny noted, just like Murdoch's. Scott's slate blue eyes and nose peered at him from over his book, "I wouldn't if I were you,' he cautioned.

"What"? Johnny drawled.

"Play with that ship, if that slips from your hands, fall and break into pieces, I don't believe you could a) repair it or b) replace it before Murdoch gets back. He'll have your hide."

Johnny smirked at Scott, "I ain't gonna drop the friggin' boat. Just lookin'."

"Ship," Scott corrected. "You can look at it just fine where it was, without handling it. Now why don't you be a good brother and put it down, gently? Then pick-up the matches you dropped."

Johnny looked pleased with himself as he noticed that his brother watched him put their father's prized mast sailing vessel back in its place. He now knew that his brother was intensely aware of his fidgeting. From experience ol' Boston anytime now would grasp the situation…that being in order to preserve their sire's belongings from any possible breakage he would have to shut his damn book and entertain his brother…and Johnny knew just what kind of entertainment he was in the mood for and where they could find it.

With a loud snap, Scott shut the book, sighing as Johnny bent over in his tight leather pants to retrieve the fallen matches. It never ceased to astound Scott that his brother could even walk in those form hugging britches. Of course, Scott was well aware that Johnny received many an admiring perusal from virginal (and not so virginal) maidens as he glided down a street…correction any street. He didn't understand the maidens' minds as he followed their eyes to his brother's tightly compacted hindquarters. He thought them to be childish, vacuous females as they giggled at his brother's twitching butt cheeks. Stranger was that his brother took no notice of the impact his rear end caused when said creatures cheeked blushed red, fans swished quickly and giggles escaped from pink lips that had formed into perfectly round Os.

Johnny smirked as he put the matches back into their holder, heads up or tails down, made no difference to him. But Murdoch would know what or who happened to his matches upon his return.

"What's the matter with you Johnny? You need me to find something for you to do?"

Johnny stood up, turned to look at his brother. His mouth quirked into a broad grin. "Nah, Boston, got something for both of us ta do, if ya just put that damn book down."

"What is it?"

"Now ya gotta trust me on this. I promise ya what I have in mind is a whole lot better than that," he pointed to the book.

"Johnny, I'm not in the mood for guessing games. What?"

Johnny's smirked again, his blue eyes glistened with merriment, "Well, I ain't in the mood ta ruin a surprise that I guarantee is worth an evening ride into Green River."

"Count me out. I prefer to stay inside where it's warm and enjoy the tales of Mark Twain's exploits over the seven seas."

Johnny stopped his smirking at his brother to stare at him with a look of wonder, "Ya mean ta tell me, Boston, that book could be more interestin' than spendin' time with your brother?"

Scott held the book against his chest, "Well…yes."

Johnny rolled his eyes at his brother, shook his head and whistled, "Get ready, Scott. Come make some of your own…what did ya call it? Exploits?"

"Yes," Scott concurred.

"I'll bet ya that what I got ta show ya are hundred times better than that ol' dusty book."

"And if they are not, what do I get, besides a cold backside from the night's air and the strong possibility of having to bail you out of Val's hoosegow?"

"Chores? A week's worth?"

Scott was now intrigued at what would make Johnny go out on a night like this quickly decided to test his brother's mettle, "Make it a month worth of chores and I'll go, despite my misgivings about abandoning Mr. Twain's amusing tales to watching out for your backside."

"More than a fair bet, 'cos when I win, its likewise, agreed?"

Scott's chest rose several inches as a blast of air sailed from his mouth, his neck itched, a sure indicator that this venture wouldn't bode well for him, somehow he would lose to his sneaky brother. Could be his shirt…his freedom…ending up with a headache…paying for all…or worst yet…Murdoch finding out what they had been up to in his absence?

"Cat's away, Scott. Mice do play."

"That's what worries me, brother."

Johnny carefully watched him for any sign of wavering until Scott did extend his hand to seal the deal. Scott had been backed into a corner by his brother. How had he gotten here again? Oh yeah, he was the older and wiser brother, it was up to him to keep Johnny corralled…that's how. Hah! Fat chance of that happening, keeping Johnny curtailed. Mere moments before he had been an innocent bystander, minding his own business, he shook his head in defeat. Scott shook Johnny's hand in a tight clasp.

"Agreed, I hope I won't regret this."

"Good, get your coat. I'll get Barranca and Sheridan saddled." He rushed to the coat rack, strapped on his gun belt with a grin, "Hey Scott?"

"What?"

"Don't forget ta bank the fire. Ya don't want ta burn the house down, now do ya?"

Scott waved him off, mumbling, "Maybe one of these days…"

The ride into Green River seemed longer than normal, maybe due to the cold and the wind, which rushed from the high peaks of the San Jacinto Mountains into the long sweeping valleys of the plains. Leaves swirled on the ground in mad-dash fashion in whirly circles. The Lancer ponies gingerly picked their way over the hard ground, eyes rolled back in their sockets when a tumbleweed or sheet of newspaper rustled near their hooves. The boys concentrated on their side-stepping ponies as a pair of tumbleweeds sped past them.

Scott turned up the collar of his thick fleeced lined coat, his hat pressed low on his head to protect his ears from the bone chilling cold air.

"Are you sure about this, Johnny? "Wouldn't sitting by the fire be nicer? And smarter?"

Johnny laughed, the sounds bounced across the valley floor, Barranca's reins rested easy in his gloved hands despite Barranca's ears flicking back towards his rider.

"Sure, I'm sure, Boston. Ya think I'd be headin' inta town on a night like this if I wasn't?"

"Not sure how stir-crazy you are, having been stuck inside the hacienda all day. Don't know how you managed to not have run outside screaming in horror."

Johnny grinned, "Take it easy, brother; ya'll be thankin' me later on."

"Ah hah, I'll bet."

A wide smirked played across Johnny's face, "That ya did and ya will."

The boys rode straight to the livery stable to protect their mounts from the sinking temperatures, despite the horses' winter coats; it made more sense to have them inside a warm stall with plenty of fresh hay, oats and water. Inside the stable, Scott realized that there were more horses than usual either standing inside a stall box or hitched to a communal rail.

"'sides Scott, we might just want ta stay the night," winked Johnny, who slapped his hands together to get the blood flowing. "I'll betcha that Pearl will be willin' ta share her bed with ya."

"Hold it right there, Johnny. Just what is going on? I mean why precisely are we here? Looks to me, like there's a larger group of riders tonight instead of the regular handful of cowboys come to town for a Saturday night poker game. Especially when the weather is colder than a witch's tit, I might add. What's going that I don't know?"

Then it dawned on Scott, yesterday afternoon, Johnny had been the one to escort Murdoch and the ladies into Morro Coyo to catch the stage to Stockton. He had left the wagon at the livery there and had come home on a borrowed horse. And he hadn't come home until the wee hours of this morning, heading straight into his bed, where he slept in late, as Murdoch wasn't there to hustle him from his warm bed. Scott couldn't connect the dots behind Johnny's trip into Morro Coyo with tonight's ride to Green River's which was even further away from Lancer.

"Say, brother, after you dropped off Murdoch and the ladies, you took your sweet time coming home. Where were you? Does tonight have anything to do with yesterday?"

Johnny laughed as he slapped Scott's mid-section, which was exactly like punching a pillow; Scott's coat was so thick.

"Maybe," he grinned.

"Or maybe, Mr. Lancer it's those scantily clad floozies, prancin' around the Painted Lady Saloon. Flaunting their unmentionables for the world to see, their bottoms stuck up into the air, flappin' them to and fro like they were flags run up high on a flag pole. Never saw such a spectacle in my life. There's a whole lotta shakin' goin' on over thar, that's for damn certain," chimed in Joe.

"I beg your pardon, what are you talking about Joe?" Scott asked Joe Hopkins, proprietor of the livery stables.

"Dancin' floozies, half-naked dancin' floozies, imported all the way from Paree."

"Could that possibly be Paris, Joe? As in Paris, France?" Scott asked as he glanced at Johnny who was doing his best to look elsewhere, his shoulders shaking from containing his laughter.

"Sure, that could be where those shriekin' females are from. Ya know, Lola did mention a time or two that she was thinkin' of bringin' in some other gals ta get more customers into her watering hole. I just didn't know them gals would be that kind."

"Did Miss Lola happen to mention what kind of girls they would be?"

"Let me think…"

"Come on Boston, ya'll see them soon enough. We've got ta get over there. Val was savin' a table up front for us, but we don't want ta miss out on the show."

"Hold on, Johnny. Give Joe a chance to tell me."

Joe snapped his fingers, "I've got it! Those gals! Lola called 'em "cancan". I think it's 'cos they sure cancan get a man's heart and his blood racin' while his pole gets ramrod stiff, if ya know what I mean. But I ain't complainin' seein' as how my business is boomin' too and those gals just got here a few days ago. All the womenfolk around here are up in arms, there maybe a few husbands wearing shiners if they get caught over there."

Scott turned to Johnny, "Well, brother, as long as we're here, let's go see what all the commotion is about."

"I already did," he grinned. "Figured ya wouldn't want ta miss the show, those gals sure can kick their legs high into the air."

"Then Johnny, proceed to the saloon. Val's holding a spot for us in front?" He slapped his gloves together and motioned to follow him.

Johnny grinned, "Proceeding Boston."

The main doors of the saloon were shut tight against the inclement weather, but the tinkling of the piano playing sheet music could be heard through the door, alerting those outside "come on in, we're opened for business." Johnny opened the door and held it for Scott. The familiar sounds from within the Painted Lady Saloon were soothing to the savage beast. It was warm inside, as the potbelly stove pumped heat into the bar and the gas lights flickered and hissed. At the front of the saloon the raised stage stood in readiness for the show that would soon begin.

"Hot dang! We haven't missed the first show," grinned Johnny.

"The place is crowded, seems like word travels fast," Scott pointed out.

"Whatever gave ya that idea, Boston?"

"Half-naked dancing cancan girls would be my guess, Johnny."

Behind the counter Lute, the bartender had his hands full as he pulled the beer handle to fill mugs to their brim with the golden liquid, making certain each had a full head of foam. His expert hands guided from a bottle of whiskey to rye to tequila per order, clinking glass to glass, with nary a drop of liquor spilled to the dark wood countertop, scooping up coins and dropping them in the collection box. Fragments of bits and pieces of conversations floated through the air as groups of men, some obviously were cowboys, while others were town locals, tried talking over another group that was standing next to their own cluster of laughing, drinking men. No one was feeling any pain that night.

The regular saloon gals, Pearl, Milly and Molly (twin sisters, as they claimed) and Rosie were busy carrying trays of poured drinks to tables. They would return to the bar with empty glasses for either refills or cash or to fetch another bottle for their respective customers. The brothers observed slaps to decked-out silk covered bottoms, pinched cheeks and suggestive stroking of bare arms; while a few male hands dared to roam stocking legs as far upwards as they could before getting slapped.

"BOYS!" came the cry from across the room, causing Scott and Johnny to locate the speaker. Lola was standing behind the bar, helping to fill glasses. "COME ON OVER HERE AND GIVE ME A HUG, JOHNNY LANCER!"

"Looks like you're being beckoned brother," Scott pointed out.

"JOHNNY! SCOTT! OVER HERE! SHOW'S GONNA START SOON!"

"I vote we go that way for now, Boston. Don't want ta miss a single number." He waved to Lola and pointed to the table where he would be. She would come over at some point to collect her hug.

The brothers looked over to where Sheriff Val Crawford was seated. He looked a bit out of character to Scott's quick once over. It appeared to be that the notorious messy Sheriff was decked out in a clean shirt. Most noteworthy his hair was combed, parted and slicked down with some hair tonic as none of the Sheriff's usual cowlicks were sticking up from the back of his head. Scott blinked his eyes, looked to him like Val had even gone to the trouble of adding a string tie to complete his wardrobe.

"What happened to Val?" Scott questioned as he elbowed Johnny.

"See I told ya he could clean up, if he wanted ta, looks like he wanted ta. Now don't ya go teasin' him, I think Val's in love with Fifi."

"Fifi?"

"Ya see her soon, she's a little redhead. Come on, we'll get one of Lola's gals ta get us drinks. Show should be startin' soon, see that dude over there?"

Scott looked and saw a well (perhaps overly) dressed man come out from the back room. "What about him?"

"He plays the girls' music…let's grab our chairs."

Val stood up to greet the brothers, shaking hands in greeting. "About time ya two got your asses here. I almost had ta haul the McClure clan off ta jail over those chairs. Sit ya rumps down."

"Thanks. Nice to see you too Sheriff," replied Scott. "You look marvelous."

"Now don't start in on me, Scott Lancer!" warned Val.

Val twisted in his chair to make eye contact with Lola, he sharply whistled when he didn't make eye contact. "Lola, two more beers and a bottle of…".

"Tequila," Johnny supplied.

Over at the piano, the little man who sported a dark upturned mustache wore a flocked grey coat with matching trousers that were smartly pressed, he had on a flowered silk vest and highly polished black boots. All that was missing was a matching top hat. Scott figured that was probably in the backroom. The man flexed his fingers a few times before he began to play a most lively tune on the piano; the music settled the crowd down as all eyes turned towards the stage where the red velvet curtain was closed.

Scott was fairly confident that he was the only person, besides the man playing the music, who recognized the opening presto of The Galop from Jacques Offenbach's _Orpeus_ _in_ _the_ _Underworld. _The room's other occupants weren't taking notice of the piano man; all eyes were fixed upon the curtain, as it was parted by two unattractive burly stage hands. Nevertheless, the audience uttered cat calls just the same, they knew what was about to happen.

Within seconds even louder wolf whistles sounded as a troupe of dancing vixens appeared from stage left, each holding her flouncing skirt high, showcasing row upon row of ruffles on the underside of their skirts, long legs encased in sheer stockings with a single black seam running up the back of their legs, held in place by garters and ruffled short, short silk drawers. Johnny had never before (well, at least since last night) seen ladies unmentionables this short before. The ones he saw most came down to their knees in layers of ruffles around just the base of the drawers. These rows of ruffles made it all the more interesting to look at those drawers, not to forget the ladies pearly white naked thighs which were constantly on display with them hitching their skirts up high for the world to enjoy the view.

The dancers each kicked one of their legs high into the air, while they balanced on their other leg, which to Johnny looked hard to do since they wore heels and moved with rapid vigor, while they not only spun around in circles but bounced up and down on their supporting leg. Ruffled skirts were swished to and fro, with yelps of glee, as two of the dancers performed cartwheels across the stage to the fast pace music. Two other dancers bounced as high as they could into the air to land on the stage in full leg splits before jumping up to join the other ladies in a single chorus line that covered the width of the stage, all the while sashaying their full skirts, kicking their legs high in total unison. The feathers they wore in their hair bounced in time to the music too.

Smiles never left their faces as the music played for at least three full minutes. The part that Johnny like best was almost last, judging from the cheers of the crowd they appreciated it as well. The ladies turned their backsides towards their audience, bent over to display their round ruffled bottoms fully to the hooting and hollering men, all the time swishing those skirts before pushing those rounded bottoms out fully.

Wild applause combined with whistles and cheers of appreciation came from the standing room only crowd of men who enjoyed the lusty entertainment. Johnny, Val and Scott joined in and as the dancers finished their fast-paced number, one ran up to Val to plant a kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a bright red lip print and a few floating feathers that had escaped from her costume.

Johnny and Scott both elbowed Val from their position of either side of Val, who grinned and applauded with even more vigor after receiving his kiss. They girls dashed off the stage with smiles and waves for the crowd as the piano player continued with the fast-paced tune.

"Val, you sly old dog you," shouted Scott to the Sheriff, who had blushed three shades of red from his neck upwards. "Fifi, I assume?"

"Who told ya that?"

"Val, whom do you think," grinned Scott as he nodded towards his brother.

"Johnny, I tole ya ta keep your big mouth shut," he grumbled.

"Me?" he said innocently. "Now how in the hell can ya keep that little redhead under cover when she plants a big smooch on that whiskery face of yours? Wipe that paint off your face, will ya?"

"With what?"

"I dunno, use the sleeve of your shirt," Johnny suggested.

"NO!" Scott shouted, throwing his arm onto Val's to prevent him from ruining the shirt.

"Well, why not, it ain't yours?" asked Val.

"Why mess that shirt up, what if Miss Fifi comes out here to visit with you? You don't want to be all mussed up do you? Let me get a bar towel for that, along with another drink. Don't do anything until I come back."

Later the troupe of dancers did come out to meet and mingle with Lola's customers. Johnny couldn't decide which one he liked most…his opinion changed with each dance of the night. A through Z, Aimee to Brigett to Charee to Fifi to Patrice to Renee to Zara, each had their special way about them. Even Scott looked like was in heaven, with a French dancer, perched on each knee, planting kisses on his cheeks.

"Hey Boston?"

Scott was too engrossed with the attention he was receiving from Brigett to hear his brother.

"Hey Boston?"

"Not now, Johnny, busy…"

"So I see, looks like I won the bet and ya'll be busy for the next month back home too!" Johnny laughed then grinned as the music started up again and the cancan dancers took the stage for one more dance.

Johnny poked Scott, "Ol' Joe sure was right about it!"

"What?"

"There's a whole lotta shakin' goin' on!"

"Oh là là…bet there will be more going on upstairs, brother!"

"Ya betcha, Boston! Whoo whew!"

~Fin~

Sun Dancer

Reader's Notes: The can-can (more correctly not hyphenated, as in the original French: cancan is a high-energy and physically demanding music hall dance, traditionally performed by a chorus line of female dancers who wear costumes with long skirts, petticoats, and black stockings. The main features of the dance are the lifting up and manipulation of the skirts, with high kicking, splits, cartwheels and suggestive, provocative body movements.

The dance was considered scandalous as originally the dancers wore pantalettes, which had an open crotch, and the high kicks were intentionally revealing. Occasionally, people (yes men, originally danced it too!) dancing the cancan were arrested. Here at the Painted Lady Saloon, proper attire was used, leaving the scandalous reveals for upstairs entertainment.

"Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On" is a song written by Dave "Curlee" Williams and usually credited to him and James Faye "Roy" Hall. The song was first recorded by Big Maybelle, though the best-known version is the 1957 rock and roll/rockabilly version by Jerry Lee Lewis. However, I first heard it sung by Elvis.


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